Monday, June 29, 2009

Make it last

We've been walking about for the past hour, or so, and decide to take a little break and find a side street to sit down. It takes us a while to find a spot, but when we do, it's ideal - the driveway between the Radio City complex.

There's a lot of silent moments between us. Good ones. After 10 minutes, I notice S is fixated on the illuminated light boxes which act as art-cum-seating in the area.

"What are you looking at?" I ask, quizzically.

"They remind me of a fire." S grins and looks away, shyly.

There's another moment of silence which leads into something else. A G-rated moment becomes PG-13. Nothing else is heard or noticed around us. People walk around us and we don't care; we're clearly too busy with each other.

Then out of the blue, we hear something that is a mood breaker.

"Make it last. Make. It. Last." A (possibly drunk) woman leaving the Radio City towers says this loud enough to ruin our concentration. F and I pull away from one another and begin to giggle.

"Ok, that ruined the moment," says S.

"I thought I could block anything out, but I couldn't block that."

Not long after her words of dissent, we look at each other and carry on where we left off for another period of undetermined length. When it's time to come up for air, we decide to make it last somewhere else until 3 a.m.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Letter to J

With the run in at Holt's out of the way, I want to write a short message to J to clear the air between us. I spoke to my friend C and he said it's best to make peace and let the past be the past.

So, I do what I do well and write down a few words and send them in an email the following day...

Hey,It was nice to see you on the weekend.

I'm surprised no one told you about the big white thing under your eye when at Holts. Hmmm...

And like I said before, the invite for you to come to the loft is always, always there. Open door.

BTW, sweet sweater; they're now on sale (again) at Club Monaco.You can buy 2 of them for the price of one - plenty of grey ones left :)

Gotta run - the office in the middle of a lot of projects and 1/2 the staff is OOO.

Cheers, S.

The answer I get is one that shocks and appals me. As much as I want to reply back, I don’t. At least, I don’t immediately. I wait until it’s the right time. It won’t be today since it’s J's birthday and I don’t want that to be my (final) gift to him.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Avoiding the unavoidable (pt. 2)

"Hi, S. How are you?" asks K. He always liked me, like all of J's friends, co-workers and acquiantences.

"I'm good." I smile and run my fingers through my curls. "It's been a while. How are you?" I exchange pleasantries.

While we're both exchanging these five sentences, I look at J and he's looking down. No eye contact, which is typical. He is one of the least confrontational people I have ever known. He's also one of the weakest.

K knows the game and makes a smooth exit, leaving J and I standing near the elevators.

"Hey."

"Hey." He's still looking at the floor and his posture is slouchy, as if he was lightly punched in the stomach.

"I didn't expect to run into you here."

"Yeah. K said he saw you but I didn't." The eyes glance upwards and to the side. He’s wearing the black sweater I bought right before the breakup. The same black sweater that I was told I’d be loved forever and ever if I bought it for him.

"I saw you and tried to go around to the other side. I didn't want you to see me."

"Mm. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"A client event." An answer that makes sense to anyone who knows me. "So, I thought I'd pass by Holts to see the sale."

"Yeah, well there's nothing there for you." Snarky remark. J always thought I had no taste because I like to wear a lot of black.

"There are no extra smalls, huh?" The snappy comeback comes too naturally, grinding a little salt into the wound of someone who always envied the fact that I have a good body and can fit into sample sizes.

"I got a card from L," he says while looking away. L is my realtor who was referred to me by J.

"Yeah, he asked for your address, but I didn't know your postal code."

"Mm. He has three months to live. Whatever." J rolls his eyes at this. It's an insensitive remark especially since L does have a condition which affects his lymphatic and immune system.

"That's not a nice thing to say. He doesn't have much time to live."

"Whatever. He's had six months to live for the past few years."

The conversation is already strained so I change the subject.

"By the way, you have a white fluff under your left eye." I point to J's eye.

J pulls at the lashes on his right eye.

"No, your other left eye."

J pulls at the lashes on his left eye.

"No, it's still there." I point to his face, starting to glisten from sweat. J pulls at the lashes on his left eye and rubs it vigourously. It's still there, but I don't bother to continue with this line of talk.

There's a short pause that's broken by me. "I know that after yesterday, I was the last person you'd want to see today."

Nothing.

"Look, I didn't like the way things ended yesterday. I didn't want it to end that way."

"Yeah, well." I take a look at J's face and I see it needs a shave. I also see a series of breakouts along the hairline. He looks to the distance where the designers are, but not one of them come over to rescue him. He’s all alone, which is something he doesn’t like to be.

"So how's work?"

"Good. It's my last week at Company X."

"Already? That was fast. Anything coming up?"

"Well, there's a position in the marketing department that I applied for. I don't know if I'm going to get it..." The final words hang in the air as he looks around and not at me. "I know people who work here, but that might work against me."

"That's a good thing. Knowing someone here is always a plus." The designers he works for sell their line at Holt's and they know people in the marketing and communications departments. He'll probably get the job even though he's not the least bit qualified. He has under six months of working experience and almost all of it is in internships (one of which I forced him to take because he had only worked for one month out of an entire year after graduating from his program). The employers will look past that, see him as cute and sweet and bypass his thin and badly organized portfolio.

"About Bryan's birthday..." J starts but I quickly interrupt.

"I didn't want to go show up by surprise and make you feel uncomfortable.”

"I didn't care if you went, or not."

"Yes, you would have." I know him so well; better than he knows himself. I look at him and he catches a glimpse of my eyes. He quickly turns away. "I did that because of you. And, I couldn't have gone, anyway. I was at work until 11 pm that night."

"Still, it took me by surprise. I didn't know you were such good friends with him."

"Yeah, we keep in touch."

"It's not that I care. You can be friends with whoever you want." J still hates the fact that his friends, who are my friends by proxy, still like me even though they pledged allegiance with him after the breakup.

When he says this I think, Damn straight I can be friends with whoever I want. Does J seriously think you can own your friends as if they're inanimate objects? He probably does. He's got to be seriously out of his fucking mind.

"Ok, I see that you're uncomfortable so I guess I should get going." J has been uncomfortable for the past couple of minutes but I don't want to let him go just yet.

"Oh, I did reply to your messages. You were the one who didn't write back."

“What was I going to say?”

“How should I know? You can’t say I didn’t reply when you never replied back.” And, this is the perfect lead for my next point of contention from his angry texts the night before. “By the way, you deleted me from Facebook and blocked me. I don’t even know how to block someone. So, go home and check your settings.” I already know he blocked me because he didn’t want to see my status updates, realizing I was living a life and having fun while doing it.

“Uh, yeah.”

“And about your text about P...”

“Yeah, he told me he saw you on the street afterwards.”

“Yeah, that was really bitchy of you.” J looks down again, defeated. He can’t win when he plays his petty games with me. This time he knows that I’m right, like I always am.

By this point, I’m tired and I want to leave. This is taking too much time and energy out of my day. It’s Saturday, I should be relaxing, not starting another argument with an ex.

“Ok, I have to go and I know you want to go, too.”

Nothing.

“And you know what I said about the open door. You are always welcome to come over.”

“Yeah, we’ll see...”

“Ok, bye. Talk soon."

He doesn't say anything to me as he makes his way back to the designers and I make my way to the escalators, not looking back.

Even though I know we're not going to talk in the following days, I have a feeling we're going to run into each other in one form or another. And this is going to happen very soon.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Avoiding the unavoidable (pt. 1)

The series of angry texts from J on Friday night did not put me in the greatest of moods on Saturday morning. Not only did I have to be at work before 9 a.m, but I also had to clock in more hours in the afternoon for a client's event.

The office is quiet. No one is around and I'm able to take care of a few projects in my own time. When it's almost 1 p.m., I turn off my computer at work and head to the event. The weather is overcast which allows me to walk down University Avenue in a sweater without arriving in a puddle of sweat.

The event is running well and I don't need to be around to take care of any details. They don't need me there and I'd just be another body in the crowd. Because I have some free time on my hands, I head over to Holt Renfrew for some retail therapy.

When I arrive at Holt's, I make my way to the restroom. It's the best one in the city that doesn't cost a cup of coffee in order to be used. The amenities are lush and - most important - clean. It takes me about 10 minutes to freshen up. The hair doesn't look too bad, my clothes still look good, and the perspiration is wiped away.

While making my way downstairs, I see there's a trunk show from X, the designers J sometimes does freelance work for. I begin to make my way towards it and then I see J there with K, one of the designers. In a flash, I make a quick cut to the right and walk through a rack of clothes.

Fuck. Out of all the people I have to see, I have to see him. It doesn't help that he had a text fight with me the night before. Fuck. Why now? I don't need this. I don't need this, now.

I walk around the second floor, trying to find the escalator downstairs. Naturally, the escalator is in the area where J is standing. Fuck. I need to make my way out of here without seeing J because if I do run into him it's not going to be as pretty as the dresses on the stylized mannequins.

I hope I don't run into him. I hope he doesn't see me. I hope I don't run into him. I hope he doesn't see me. The mantra is whispered in my head as I walk around the escaltors.

The coast is clear as I make my way through the racks. That is, until I run into J and K. Literally...

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Text ex fighting

It's Friday night and I'm still at work, typing away on the keyboard. The office is empty and has been for more than an hour. I can accomplish more in this manner than with my phone ringing every few seconds.

It's peaceful until my cell phone beeps. It's a text from J.

"You are a stranger to me. I hope your satisfied."

This is one of those WTF moments you hear about but never really get to experience on a daily basis. I wait approximately 15 minutes before I text back.

"I'm at work alone. Come by and we can talk."

Almost immediately, I get another text from J.

"I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. You made it clear you feel the same. I thought things could be fine but I was wrong."

Lovely. If my day wasn't long and stressful enough, now I have to contend with a pissy person intent on starting a fight. I call my friend S and leave her a message. Not long after she writes back.

"I never said that. We were always more than friends. You can't throw all of that away."

"No. That WAS us. That is over and gone. Your actions have said more than words so don't worry about it." Another asshole-ish response.

Because I have no idea what the hell is going on in J's mind, I write a text and call a few people to get their perspective and to let off a little bit of steam. My friend S writes back, again.

“Ok, you need to text him, ‘I have a job & life... I don’t have time for your infantile head games. Good bye & good luck!’”

She knows how to put a smile on my face even though the smile is only temporary. The thing is, I don’t want to say goodbye to J, but I want to make peace.

My phone beeps again: it’s another message from J.

"I've spent the last 2 months hating you."

I write back quicker this time.

“I don't know what I've done to make you hate me so much. Really, I don't.”

Two minutes later, there’s another text.

"Didn't respond to me. Told me i was selfish. Deleted me from facebook. We weren't on the same page."

There are many errors in that text that I don’t even want to respond to, but I do in my head. I did respond to J, but didn’t respond immediately (which pissed J off because I always responded seconds after he wrote). I didn’t delete J from Facebook, but J was the one who deleted and blocked me – allowing me to never contact him online again. The only thing I did do is call J selfish because J is selfish and needs to pick up the dictionary to learn the definition of the word.

By this time, I’m packing up my things at work. I’m tired and the walk will probably clear my head.

On my way back to the loft, I begin to text J. On my way, I pass by P, who is one of J's best friends and has always hated me. P is jealous of me for several reasons (looks, connections, friends, money, career, etc.) and has never hidden his distaste because I got to date J while he never got to (J isn’t attracted to P, at all). P sashays past me and gives me a dirty look. Whatever. At least I don’t look like a muppet.

"I always responded to you. And I didn't delete you on fb. You blocked me. BTW, say hi to p."

I walk inside the loft, remove my shoes and clothes and make my way upstairs to my bedroom. There’s another text from J.

"Say hi to p? YOU say hi to p."

Alright. This attitude problem has gone on for too long. I don't reply after this message. I let it go, lie back on my 600 thread-count sheets and close my eyes. Before I get too comfortable, my phone beeps. God help me if it’s J. It’s not, it’s C.

"So, focus on work. Ignore J's texts. Block him, avoid him, whatever it takes. Or, hookup with him to get it out of both your systems."

This gets a giggle out of me, but not much more. I'm spent and want to call it a night.

Even though I think it's all over, it's not. It continues the following day when I have to confront it face-to-face...

Monday, June 15, 2009

Being considerate sucks

B's birthday is on Thursday and I just find out that J is also invited. Since B lives in the burbs, I'd have to take the train out and B tells me that I can meet up with J and he can pick us up at the station.

When I hear about these plans, I think it's best that I don't go. The last thing I want to do is to 'ruin' a friend's birthday with having people ask me why I'm getting dagger looks from J.

Because I don't want to surprise J by appearing at the party (or at the train station) out of the blue, I decide it's best to write and send a short text message.

"I'm not going to B's bday because I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable." Simple and empathetic.

A short while later, I get a text back...

"Well that was news to me. Don't let me get in the way." Bitchy and mean-spirited.

I let it go and don't respond. J is in one of his moods. The last thing I want to do is exacerbate it. Even though I think it's a rather considerate thing to do, as it turns out, not everyone feels the same way.

Interesting enough, my actions have an effect that continue onto the next day...

Worst one-name insult for a man

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Gluten = flavour

There are a few people in my office who are not able to eat food products made with gluten. No one says a thing because they’re usually hungry enough to let a gluten-free item slide when ordering food.

When we bite into whatever is ordered, most of us are a little disappointed with the flavour because, as it turns out, gluten-free equals taste-free. And, we’re all paying for it.

Growing up, I was taught you didn’t like something, you didn’t eat it. Now, if you don’t like something, everyone else doesn’t eat it. That, I think, is selfish and rude.

If someone was invited to my home for dinner and told me I had to adapt the recipe to their whims, I wouldn’t invite them over for a meal again. It’s not like there’s an option for tofu pasta and tomato-less sauce at Italian restaurants.

It’s not a life or death situation. With so many food allergies in the world, I’m surprised anyone can eat anything. Nut dust practically flies through the air, alongside toxic fumes and insults.

So, the next time someone orders a gluten-free meal for the entire office, I’m going to say if they can make a switch to some gluten-full items because I’m allergic to the taste of cardboard.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Guess who's back on the market?

Even though J claimed he wanted to have space and didn’t want to date anyone for the next year, or so (due to my oppressive nature, apparently), it came as a huge surprise when I happen to see a profile on the same dating site that I am a member of.

When I first click on the tiny image, I am taken aback and my stomach turns. I can’t believe it. Guess who’s back on the market? Fucker. As it turns out, J doesn’t know what he wants (why do you need space if you want to date other people?), especially since I was told by J that I couldn’t date for the next year because it wouldn’t be fair for the both of us.

Besides the very obvious bitchslap swipe against my profile and pictures, there are a few pieces of shit that are strewn across J’s profile (namely, one that doesn’t mention a lack of mental stability and a growing concern for an acute case of being a sociopath).

The worst thing that insulted me was the description under body type: thin.

Since when does having a 34” waist (not to metion a beer gut and love handles you just want to hate) considered thin? If that’s thin, I’m skeletal. Seriously. A 28” waist must be the beginning of a serious eating disorder.

So, I do what I do in times of distress: I send the link to all the people who would like to see J hurt/dead and/or both. Their snarky replies brought a smile to my face, even though the profile didn't.